Murderer, She Spoke
by Tempestt Londyn
Summary: The Black soldier seeks the one person who can give him solace.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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><p><strong>~"Murderer," She Spoke~<strong>

_**Summer 1978**_

He panted, breathing still labored as he advanced towards the gate. Soiled hands convulsed; black, sweat laden curls jogged as he pulled the bars, body rocking back and forth, willing them to crack.

"Cissy!" The young man called into the stifling darkness of the cold night.

_You'll always have a home with me, Reg_, she declared, blue orbs pervaded with love and admiration.

"Cissy!" He believed her, and why ever should he not? Each was the other's confidant—defying their older siblings, sharing their deepest secrets.

_But where is she now?_

"Cissy!"

Pale hands course nervously through jet black hair, smearing evidence within thick locks.

_They know what I've done…_

…_.they're coming…_

"Who's there?" A cold voice penetrated the silence as a woman rapidly approached, the moon's glow illuminating her thin figure. The panic etched on her face was startling. But the fury was…strange. Foreign. Unsettling.

It terrified him and he winced as his stomach dropped.

"Cissy, it's me! Reg!" Regulus Black announced, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.

Narcissa Malfoy came to a halt, expression now curiously blank.

"How—how are you?" He was disgusted by how grotesque his voice had become. It resonated eerily through the silence, making him feel as insignificant as a baby Mandrake.

The blonde sighed, folding her arms in exasperation. She nodded.

"What can I do for you?"

The blood drained from his body, encouraging dizziness. Regulus hesitated, awestruck at her stony gaze. He neither needed, nor wanted to remind Narcissa of her promise. She was a grown woman, she was a smart woman, and she always kept her word.

Throat dry as sandpaper, words eluded him. His reaction was simple—extending a hand. Touching her would reveal whether Black blood flowed through her veins still, because nothing accounted for the upsurge of apathy.

Narcissa's protested shriek pierced the atmosphere. It was odd, how something so customarily dainty was so _shrill_, now rivaled the chirping of a thousand crickets.

"Is—is that?" She stammered, a shaky finger pointing at the crimson fluid. It was moments like this—moments of poor articulation and juvenile gestures—that Regulus remembered Narcissa was the baby girl.

"Blood, yeah." He replied, a silly blush creeping into his cheeks.

But instead of inviting him inside to clean up, instead of saying, "Well done," "I'm proud" or _anything _to reassure her youngest cousin, Narcissa looked horrified.

"You—you're—" The words catch in her throat, rendering her an imbecile. Narcissa altered her focus to the ground, massaging her temples as she mused.

"I've finally done it," he sighed, still perplexed about her disposition, but content that she wasn't ignoring him entirely. Regulus Black did not have confidence in bundles—that, in and of itself, was strange for a Black. The Dark Lord surely would not permit a timid Death Eater to exist, and it was imperative that he thoroughly assess himself. His hands once more enclosed around the iron bars. "I'm a—"

"Murderer," Narcissa spoke, her eyes narrowed as her expression contorted to something ugly, inhuman.

Regulus shivered, immune to the cold gust of Wiltshire wind.

She was branding him, not completing a sentence.

"_Soldier_," he corrected. "A Black soldier, just like Bella. Not like Sirius and Andro—"

"Shut up!" Narcissa yelled furiously. "You're a _murderer_, Reg," she judged, edging backwards. "Murdered him with your bare hands, huh? Didn't even think to use your _wand_?"

"Bellatrix does the same–"

"Bella has _never_ been sullied so!"

This from the woman who had yet to clean last week's, Bellatrix-induced sea of gore from her cellar. Regulus exhaled deeply. Favorite cousin or not, he refused to be Narcissa's source of entertainment.

"Let me in, Cissy," He resigned, defeated.

"I'm afraid not, Reg."

Perhaps the blow would not have been as harsh if she abstained from using his nickname. Perhaps the words would've been easier to comprehend if Narcissa actually contemplated his wish.

But she had been so _brash_, so _ruthless_. It was so unlike her.

Regulus's eyes flashed. "But you said I was always welcome—"

"That offer," Narcissa sternly admonished, "was extended to the _killer_, the wand-wielder who leaves no trace. It was not meant for the _fool_ afraid of the Killing Curse, who commits _murder_ like a common _muggle!" _

Narcissa's transparency crested in the wake of her marriage. _Killing_, _murdering_, same difference—either way, a life was lost. It was clear that Narcissa's upmost priority, her only loyalty, was to that porcelain doll upstairs and maintaining the 'good' Malfoy name.

Consenting to harbor an assassin…the risk was far too great…

….it would not be born.

"I'm a soldier."

"You're a tool of war."

Smiling sympathetically, she reached through the obstructions and cradled his face her hands.

Regulus's blood boiled as she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his jaw.

_How quickly she forgets how 'sullied' I am_.

"Go now, Reg." Narcissa whispered, fretfully. "Carpe noctem."

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><p><strong>Fin.<strong>

_Favorite, if you wish, but reviews are appreciated, more so! _


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